Chapter 647: 647

Nwadiebube leaned forward slightly in his throne, his fingers ceasing their tapping. His gaze sharpened, cutting into the mage like a blade.

“There are many secrets behind Osita’s existence,” he said slowly. “Secrets known only by the godlings… and even then, not shared freely.”

The mage’s smile did not waver.

“Are you willing to share such secrets with me?” Nwadiebube asked. His voice was calm, but beneath it was the weight of a challenge.

The female mage’s face remained composed, but within, her thoughts stumbled. So it is true, she realized. The way he sat there, golden eyes alight with hunger and restraint, was exactly as her Master had described.

Commanding, yes but under the command, a quiet desperation. A king starved.

Her Master had spoken often of this man. A ruler of unyielding discipline, yet beneath the steel lay an insatiable thirst for knowledge, knowledge he felt he alone was worthy to wield. And yet, the godlings… they did not agree. To them, this king was not a vessel to be trusted, but a child clawing at forbidden books, one who would mistake a drop of wisdom for mastery of the ocean.

The mage lowered her gaze, recalling her Master’s instructions.

“He will ask. He cannot help himself. When he does, you will answer. Not because he deserves it, but because it will shape the path. Whether he rises or destroys himself is no concern of yours. You will feed his thirst, and watch what he does with it.”

That was why they had come. Not to win territory. Not to negotiate treaties. But to drip truth like venom into the parched mouth of a king who longed to drink deep.

“But that was only what he wants to know.” Her master’s words echoed in her mind with quiet severity. They had been instructed carefully: answer only what the king asked, never more, never less. To offer him everything would be to loosen the leash on his curiosity, to widen his vision toward matters that should remain unseen. Their duty was not to enlighten him, but to guide his understanding into a narrow path, one safe for both him and themselves.

She kept this thought like a shield as she regarded Nwadiebeube, who waited, his dark gaze resting heavily upon her. His posture was that of a ruler accustomed to control, yet beneath it she could sense the tension of one who expected resistance.

“We are indeed willing to share this knowledge with you, my king,” she said at last, her voice calm, smooth, deliberate. “What is it you would like to know?”

The king blinked, surprised. The note of openness in the mage’s tone unsettled him. He had prepared arguments, even gentle threats, anticipating that they would refuse him outright. His words had been sharpened in his mind, ready to cut through their defiance. But now, with their apparent compliance, the edge of his preparation dulled.

Was this their goal? His eyes flicked toward the envoys seated beside her, searching for some sign of hidden intention. Yet their faces were like masks calm, unreadable, devoid of the smallest crack that might reveal what they thought. Not a furrowed brow, not a twitch of the mouth. Silence and stillness were their weapons, and he suddenly felt as though he sat at a table of statues carved from an alien stone.

He leaned back, feigning composure though his heart quickened. “Then you will answer me truthfully,” he said, his tone more measured than before. Yet doubt gnawed at him.

“I know about Osita’s demon status, but I know not of his goals, origin, and why the godlings keep such watchful eyes on demons. My issue with Osita stems from his action bringing shame to my family name and history. My problem isn’t with Osita himself as he is my uncle; my problem is the demon now wearing his skin and name.”

The female mage nodded to his words, her expression unreadable, and once again asked in that calm, deliberate tone, “What would you like to know, my lord?”

“Tell me about the demons and their goal for this world?” Nwadiebeube asked, his voice carrying more weight now, though his eyes searched her face for the slightest tremor. The female mage nodded, acknowledging his demand, while the other envoys, as though by silent accord, turned their attention back to the wine and the meal set before them. Their knives cut quietly, cups shifted, but no eyes turned toward their exchange as if the question had been expected, and its answer already rehearsed.

The female mage began to speak, her words steady, as if reciting knowledge sealed and prepared long before this moment. She told the king exactly what he needed to know, no more and no less, her phrasing careful, her tone leaving no room for embellishment.

Nwadiebeube listened intently, but as her account unfolded, his disbelief grew. His fingers tightened against the arm of his seat, his jaw set firm as though to ground himself in the face of such audacity.

“You mean to tell me,” he said at last, the weight of his voice pressing into the chamber, “that the runic knowledge we all now share in this world came from the demons? To be more specific ” he leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing, “from Osita, after his deal with the apelings?”

Nwadiebeube shook his head, the disbelief still clinging to him, before asking, “If the demons’ goal were truly this world, why then are Osita’s actions so contradictory to this supposed goal?”

For a moment he hesitated, as though the words resisted leaving his mouth. At last he admitted, voice lower, “Osita has been a great leader to his people. If not for my differences with him… I would not have preferred a better neighbour than him.”

The female mage inclined her head slightly, her composure calm. “Indeed, his actions have been unlike that of a demon,” she replied evenly. “But this stems from his past underestimation of your uncle, the real Osita.”

“The current Osita can hardly be called a demon anymore,” she continued, her tone almost reflective now. “He is more of a cambion, something caught between. When he took your uncle’s body, he underestimated the depth of the man’s love for his wife and the unborn child she carried. That bond became his undoing. It was not just a shell he took over, but a vessel filled with ties, memories, and feelings he could not strip away.”

Her gaze held steady on Nwadiebeube, as if willing him to understand. “He thought he would gain a human body to rebuild his demon form, but instead he inherited limitations…and feelings. Emotions he could not master, that gnawed at him, reshaped him. And with the passing of decades, those feelings have molded the Osita we now know. A being who wears both faces, but belongs fully to neither.”

Nwadiebeube sat in silence upon his throne, the hall echoing faintly with the fading steps of the guards and envoys. The king’s eyes lowered, his expression unreadable, but within him raged a storm. His mind was a battlefield torn between ambition and morality, the vision of an empire, his empire, shining bright before him, and the shadow of doubt cast by the truths he had just heard. It seemed so certain, so attainable, and yet it pulled at the very roots of who he believed himself to be.

Meanwhile, in the company of the envoys, unease simmered beneath their controlled exteriors. Their gazes lingered upon the female mage who had dared to test the lion in his den. Most faces were masked with neutrality, but there was a strangeness in their eyes, a mix of reproach, bewilderment, and calculation. Only the other woman among them met her gaze with something different: not judgment, but a quiet understanding, as though she alone had glimpsed the fire that had sparked within her.

The female mage herself was trembling, though not from fear. Excitement coursed through her veins, her heart beating in rhythm with the memory of the king’s golden eyes and the sheer force of his presence. But it was not only his power that left her shivering. It was her own. In that moment at his ear, when her words had stirred hesitation into his chest, she had tasted control, real control, the kind reserved for rulers.

For the first time she understood why the human envoys who traveled with them became ensnared in vanity, drunk on the attentions of nobles and kings. This land was intoxicating in its openness.

Her thoughts wandered where they should not. The empire where she had been born, where her master’s hand weighed on every breath, had always been too restrictive. Orders bound them, hierarchies caged them, obedience strangled them. It was impossible there to imagine a life unshackled by command.

But here… here was freedom. Too much freedom, she realized, a dangerous excess that could overwhelm the unprepared. Yet instead of recoiling, she felt her spirit lean toward it, hungry. Now she understood why her master’s own daughter had rebelled the moment the opportunity presented itself. She had once spat upon that betrayal, scorning it as weakness. But now, standing in this land where ambition was not only permitted but celebrated, she began to see it differently.

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